How Do an American, a Brit, and a Japanese Cross the Border?

In an attempt to fit in my last minute Middle East travelling, I went to Jerusalem and Bethlehem with my friend Olly for a weekend. What was going to be a nice, relaxing, touristy weekend before final exams turned into a frantic, stressful adventure!

We left very early on Thursday morning, hoping to avoid hassles and long lines at the King Hussein Border Crossing. Our taxi driver dropped us off, and we were on our own. He dropped us off by the Palestinian entrance, but we were ushered through to the tourist line. The Palestinians had to put all of their baggage on the x-ray machine, go through the metal detector, and then have their identity cards checked multiple times. Only after all those steps were they allowed back into the line with the tourists. We walked up to the counter, flashed our passport, and went straight to pay our exit fee to get on the bus.

*Background information: The King Hussein Border Crossing is the only one of the three border crossings between Israel and Jordan through which Palestinians are allowed to enter/leave Jordan. The process is a lot slower, and there a lot more safety/security regulations for them to go through.

Then one of the customs officials approached me and told me to come with him. I knew my multiple entry visa had expired three days earlier since it had been more than 30 days since I had left the country, but I knew the fee was only 1.5 JD, so it wasn't a big deal. So I was discussing the problem with Olly, when he realized he only had a single entry visa. Problem. Major problem. The King Hussein Border Crossing is the only border at which you cannot purchase a visa. Therefore, upon return, we would have to figure out how to get to either the northern or southern border!

We put that thought aside and said we would deal with it when we had to and crossed the border into Israel. We then took a bus to Jerusalem and dropped our stuff off at our hotel (after about an hour walking around the Old City looking for it, only to find out that it was about a minute outside the gates). After an hour nap, we got act together and went walking around the Old City. The Western Wall, the Stations of the Cross, the Armenian Quarter, and the Arab souqs were on our list of places to visit. 

The next morning we woke up and took a bus to Bethlehem. The bus ride was short, but the checkpoint between the West Bank and Israel made it longer, especially when we crossed back into Israel. We saw the Church of the Nativity, the place of Jesus' birth, then headed back to Jerusalem. We got back at about 1pm and went to talk to the hotel owner about our little visa/border dilemma. He obviously thought it was a much bigger deal than we did!

He explained to us that a taxi to the northern border on a Saturday (no buses run on Saturdays) would cost us about 800 sheckels, which is about $220. But that was just to the Israeli border. How would we get back from Northern Jordan to Amman? That would be another 50 JD, or $70. This was becoming a rather expensive visa mistake. We asked him if there were any other possibilities, but he said the buses stopped running on Fridays in the early afternoon. He did give us one glimmer of hope when he said there was a Egged bus company office on Jaffa Road which was about a 10-15 minute walk from our hotel. Off we were.

Olly was carrying his backpack, my backpack, and my rather large mirror that I couldn't resist purchasing, while I tried to keep up behind him. We were walking on what seemed like the end of Jaffa Road, when I suggested we go ask the reception at the hostel we had just passed. At this point, it was already 2:30, but every second that passed smelled more and more like the $300 we would be paying for taxis the next day. This bus was our last hope.

The receptionist was very nice and called somebody (I don't know who, but whoever you are, THANK YOU! You saved our day!) who told us the last bus was leaving at 3pm. We looked at the clock, 2:40. That gave us 20 minutes to get a taxi, drive across town, and board the bus.

I thought of it as my training for the Amazing Race, the race around the world tv-show that I want to be on with my brother, Michael. But I definitely need to be in better running shape that's for sure! Lesson learned.

Olly was running ahead with all the bags and flagged down a cab while I caught up. We shouted “Central Bus Station” through the window to the cab driver who responded with “no English”. Great. We don't have time for “no English”, but luckily the next guy was willing to take us. We arrived at the bus station at 2:55.

Olly and I had devised a plan. He would pay and get the stuff from the backseat while I went to buy the tickets and hold the bus until he came up. I ran up to the front door of the bus station only to be greeted by a crowd of people trying to get through the metal detectors. I pushed my way up to the front and ran up the escalators to the third floor. All the ticket windows were closed, leaving me panicked for a moment. But there was not even a moment to spare. I saw Olly round the corner and we ran through the terminal looking for bus 961 to Beit She'an, the closest town to the northern border. It was the very last gate, and it was still in it's spot! I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness.

We boarded the bus and paid for our 34 sheckel ticket ($9.50...much cheaper than the $300 for taxis!), and as we were walking back to our seats, the bus backed out of the station. We had made the bus by literally 30 seconds, if that. Somehow, somebody was really looking after us! As we sank into our seats, I almost started crying. Tears of joy, of course.

Our three hour bus ride through the entirety of the West Bank was interrupted by a checkpoint when we crossed back into Israel. They made all the foreigners get off the bus, hand over their passports for verification, and luggage for inspection, which took about 20 minutes. After another half hour of driving, we arrived at our destination: Beit She'an.

It was dead. The city was completely dark. Nobody was on the roads. Not a single car or person in sight. I stood ignorantly hopeful on the side of the road looking for a cab, while Olly went to ask the Israeli soldier how we could get to the border. The friendly soldier said we would have no luck getting a cab at 6pm on a Friday night. Plan B. Wait, we had no Plan B.

The soldier said he would call his friends to see if they could take us across the border. In the meantime, I noticed a Japanese guy that was standing on the side of the road by himself, ignorantly hopeful of finding a passing cab too. I asked him if he was going to the border, and he said yes, so we invited him to tag along with us. So there we were, a Japanese guy, a British guy, and an American girl, talking to an Israeli solider about how to cross back into Jordan.

Then a man approaches us asking if we needed a ride. We said yes. He said he would charge 60 sheckels to the border (literally a 5 minute drive), and we knew we were getting ripped off, but honestly, at this point what other choice did we have?

He drops us off outside the border and we literally walk across. They check our passports, and off we go. We made it to the Jordan side, with the hopes of finding a taxi back to Amman. No such luck. The Jordan side was just as dead as the Israeli side. Fantastic. The Japanese guy and I went outside to think about our options while Olly was dealing with getting a new visa. Olly comes out to see the Japanese guy and I waiting for him help decide what to do. All of a sudden another British guy walks out of the terminal, and Olly asked him if he new a way to get back to Amman from the border. Astonishingly enough this kind British man offered us a ride in his car. As Olly likes to say, Brits like to stay together. Thank goodness for that!

We waited while Alex (the kind British man) went through the necessary procedures to drive his car across the border. And when I say car, I mean fortified vehicle. Alex worked for the European Union in Ramallah, Palestine and was driving to visit his wife for the weekend. So really when I mean fortified vehicle, this thing was like a tank.

Alex had some issues at the border with the car because he usually crosses at the King Hussein Bridge, but since it was Friday night, it was closed. Lucky for us! Since the car wasn't registered at the Northern Border Crossing, he had to get it registered, which was a hassle and a half from the first question asked.

Customs official: “Who is this car registered to?”

Alex: “European Union”

Customs official: “Who is European Union, and where is he?”

Alex: “It's an organization”

Customs official: “What is his nationality?”

Thankfully, Alex had the patience to sort it all out, and an hour later we were on our way back to Amman. The first thing Alex asked us was if we were car sick, and thank goodness none of us were because he was driving on the poorly lit back roads of northern Jordan, flying over speed bumps, and rounding curves much faster than made me comfortable.

After running through Jerusalem, driving through the entire West Bank, walking across the border from Israel to Jordan, and hitch hiking back to Amman, the first thing I did when I got home was order a pizza from Dominos. (For some reason, it seemed like the most logical thing to me at the time.)

A Cry for a Chai?

Every morning on my way to class I pass by Gloria Jean's, the popular (but expensive) chain coffee shop. Rather than stopping for my usual $.35 tiny cup of tea, I like to treat myself to a $2.40 cup of tea with milk. Splurging, I know!

I always get English Breakfast Tea with milk, but I'd been eying the chai tea latte they have on the menu. I have recently become a big fan of the chai tea lattes at the Georgetown coffee shops (the best I've had in my opinion), so I decided to try one at Gloria Jean's.  They said they had run out. English breakfast tea it is.

It was 3:30 pm, so the logical thing for me to think when they said they ran out was that they originally had it, right?! So the next three days I went back to see if they had restocked. They had still run out. Unfortunate!

On the third day though, I was a little peeved and asked them to clarify their meaning of "we ran out":

Me: so if you ran out, when will you have it again?
Barista: we never had it
Me: well, doesn't we ran out imply that you had it at one point?
Barista: this is an Australian chain, so we just have their menu
Me: umm, a chai tea latte is on the menu
Barista: we don't have it
Me: that makes no sense and you should probably take it off your menu then
Barista: maybe, what else would you like?
Me: I'm very upset
Barista: well then cry about it.

What?! What did he just say?! Yes, he just said cry about it! He was probably trying to be funny, but there is no joking around when it comes to my chai tea latte. So the other barista (who overheard our little verbal exchange) says:

Come back tomorrow, we will have it.
Me: doubtful If I've come almost everyday for the past week and you haven't had it
Barista 2: yes, tomorrow, inshallah.
Well there is the loophole! Inshallah (God willing)! I don't think Allah is going to "sha'" (will) this chai tea latte! so I called him out on the fine print he tried to slip into the conversation.
Me: hmm, well the inshallah means you won't have it tomorrow, doesn't it?
Barista 2: (laughs) maybe

At that point I decided the conversation by walking out of the coffee shop without ordering anything. I didn't go back for a week and a half and until my friend decided to stop in and get a drink. I walked in and immediately Barista 2 blurted out "WE HAVE CHAI TEA LATTES" (apparently I made quite the impression if he remembered me a week and a half later). I thought he was kidding.

Me: haha, you're funny!
Barista 2: no, an Jed (seriously) we have
Me: you mean if I walk up to the cash register and order a chai tea latte, you will make me one?!
Barista 2: yes!
I go up and order my chai tea latte and, lo and behold, the answer was "that will be 2.60 JD". I was shocked! I handed him 3 JD, but he refused my money.

"today, for you, free".

Chai tea latte in hand, I walked out of Gloria Jeans smiling.

Only in Jordan (Cont'd)...

22. Would a guy take off his pants (literally undo his belt, unzip, and pull down) in the "corner" of the mall to re-tuck in his shirt.

23. Would stores not open until 1:30 pm but stay open until 1:30 am.

24. Would my roommate and I wake up to stray cats in our living room (twice).

25. Would a milkshake be considered a nesquick chocolate milk with ground peanuts.

26. Would we have to call our professor at a conference in London to clarify an exam question becaue the English doesn't make any sense.

27. Would my best friend (you know who you are) mistake me for a veiled woman from a distance.

28. Would we be invited into a stranger's house for coffee/breakfast because my roommate and I were walking down the street speaking English.

29. Would my roommate's and my attitude towards seeing spiders change from "EOIHCNSLMWARHI AHHHHH SPIDER KILL IT!" to "oh, there's a spider...whatever".

30. Would walking through campus be the best way to study for the "neswanji" (womanizer) chapter for my midterm.

31. (and along the lines of #30) only in Jordan would there need to be a chapter on "neswanjis".

32. Would we get an email on Halloween saying "wearing a Halloween costume in public could attract negative attention, stone-throwing, and even arrest if alcohol is involved."

33. Would the coffee shop guy tell me to "cry about it" when I asked why they don't serve chai tea lattes when it's on the menu.

34. Would a pickup line be "I would leave my girlfriend for you" or "I wish I were a fish so I could swim in your magic eyes".

35. Would a customs official threaten not to let me into the country until I gave him my phone number.

36. Would a guy not make me pay for my meal as a welcoming gesture and because "he is my brother".

37. Would it be ok to smoke an ENTIRE pack of cigarettes at a white tablecloth restaurant.

Train Rides, Amusement Parks, and Graveyards

For the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Adha, we had a week off of classes, which obviously translated into a week to do as much travelling as we could. My destinations of choice: Cairo, Egypt, and Jerusalem, Israel.

I went to Cairo by myself, but met up with my friend, Matt (apparently I am only friends with people named Matt) who is studying for the year. He spent a year in Yemen living with the rural bedouin tribes, so the big city life isn't really his thing. Hence his suggstion that we travel south along the Nile Delta. He originally wanted to take a midnight train to Luxor (12 hours south of Cairo) but I was a little sketched out by the whole midnight train thing, so we decided to leave in the morning and go to Minya, a four hour train ride from Cairo.

 The train was at 10, and we arrived to Ramsees Station at 9:55...after literally running through downtown. We asked three people in uniform if we buy our ticket in the station or on the train, and all three said on the train. So we rushed onto the train and miracuously found 2 seats next to each other. Since it was Eid, seats were hard to come by because a lot of people were travelling home to be with their parents. We settled in, but all of a sudden at the second stop, a woman came up to us and said we were sitting in her seats. We must have looked confused because she pulled out her tickets to show that she had seats 16 and 17, so we gathered our stuff and stood in the already crowded aisle. We soon found out that you could buy your tickets at the station to reserve a seat, but you can buy your tickets on the train for standing room. And the standing room tickets are more expensive!!

About an hour into the ride, a guy sitting next to me offered me his seat. I did the whole "three time refusal rule" (an understood cultural rule) but accepted on the fourth time. Ahhh, the occasional advantages of being a girl. I was sitting next to a woman named Warda and her three month old son Yousef. Across the aisle sat Warda's brother and sister in law. When Yousef woke up about halfway into the train ride, he was the center of attention, and everybody wanted to hold him. Somehow our little row started playing "pass the baby" and literally every five minutes Yousef was in somebody else's hands. It's a miracle he didn't end up back with the people in seat 16 and 17! Yousef spent a good amount of time on my lap, given that I was sitting right next to his mother, but in all the passing and shuffling, not one did Yousef cry! Impressive.

Literally the second Matt and I stepped off the train, we were the center of attention. Apparently Minya was not a tourist town, which might explain why there is only one hotel in the whole town. But it was actually really nice; we even had a view of the Nile from our balcony. We put our stuff down and decided to get lunch, but lunch turned into dinner as we spent 4 hours looking for Mataam Khalil that everybody raved about but nobody could give us exact directions. It wasn't even that good.

 Then Matt and I stumbled upon "hadiqa dowlia" which translates into "international garden." The one string of blinking lights drew us in. It was on the outskirts of town, and we have no idea how it stays in business. The entrance fee was 1 Egyptian Pound (about $.15), and it was literaly dead. Nobody was there. The only way to describe it is like a scene out of a movie. It was a deserted amusement park, perfect for a scary movie. There was only one ride running- a carousel from the 1980s. Nobody was on it. It was possibly one of the most bizarre places I have ever been.

 

The next morning I woke up at 5:30 to the call to prayer. It was louder than usual, maybe because our hotel right next to the mosque. I heard cheering and yelling and honking in the streets, so I walked out to the balcony to see what was going on. Since it was the morning of Eid, the streets had been transformed into a mini mosque. The streets were blocked off and rugs were laid down, and people were lining up in the streets to pray. Such an intriguing sight.

 

Matt and I were leaving later that day, but we had some time to visit a graveyard about 20 km outside of the city. It was a Muslim graveyard that was like nothing I had ever seen before! Every grave was a little room, a place for the coffin (covered in cement) and a room for the relatives who could sleep with their family members on occasions such as Eid. Each grave had a dome ceiling--typical in Islamic architecture. As we walked around the cemetary, two old bedouin women greeted us. They invited us into their father's grave, and showed us where they were sleeping. They had travelled from a village a little further south to spend Eid with their father. They invited us to stay for tea, so we had to accept. There we sat, two Americans, a taxi driver, and two old bedouin women drinking tea in a graveyard. What a way to spend Eid!

Random Short Story Part Deux

Kirsten and I were walking down to catch a taxi from the main road near our house when two girls and their grandma come out of their house and say hello to us.  We stopped to say hello, and they asked us where where we were from.  Once we said America, the grandmother litearlly started listing off all of her relatives that lived in the US. I don't know if she expected us to know them, but she not only did she tell us their names and life stories, we also were invited in to see pictures.

We were on our way to meet a friend for brunch and tried to refuse, but that never goes over well with Arab people.  So we went into their house and looked at all the pictures, pretending to be interested all the while American style pancakes were in the back of our minds. Then she offered us coffee which we graciously took and sat down and had a conversation with the girls.  They were too scared to speak English, so it turned into the grandmother telling us out how well the girls did in school. After about 15 minutes of talking to them, we said we had to leave but that we would be back.

In any other country, this situation would have been completely bizarre, but for some reason in Jordan it's completely normal. It didn't even phase us that strangers invited us into their house for coffee on a whim.  Only in Jordan.

Random short story that doesn’t really fit into any other blog post

Our flight back to Amman from Beirut landed at 11:15 pm on Saturday night.  We wanted to take advantage of all the time we could in Lebanon, hence the late flight.  Kirsten and I decided to book it off that flight to be first in line at customs, and we did just that.  I got up to the desk, only to have the man say that my visa isn’t valid. 
He obviously can’t read because it says in both English and Arabic that it’s valid until January 4, 2012.  And if I remember correctly, it’s still only 2011.  So, umm, yeah, it’s valid.  But no matter how much arguing I did, he told me I needed to go buy a new visa.

I walked over to the visa purchasing desk, slammed down my passport, and said “I need a new visa” in a very stern voice (as my dad would say, my tone was like a sword). Not that he deserved it, but the situation called for it in my opinion.  So he gave me a new visa that cost me 20 JD (which is just unnecessary and upsetting only because I already have a valid visa)., and I walked up to another empty customs desk. 

This time the guy takes my passport and starts asking questions: “Where are you coming from?” “Why are you in Amman?” “Where are youstudying?” “What are you studying?” etc. But then he asked me for my phone number.  I asked why that was necessary, and he said he needed it to input it into the computer.  I was skeptical, but I gave it to him anyway because that was the only way he would let me through.  He stamped my passport, and as I walked off he yells out “Call you tomorrow.”  Classy, really classy.

The next day, I went home right after class to take a napbecause I was so exhausted but an hour into my much needed nap, I get a phonecall from a number that I don’t recognize.  So I ignore it. The phone rang again 5 minutes later so I answered this time.  This is how the conversation went:

            Me: Hello.
            Customs guy: Allo
            Me: Hello?
            Customs guy: allo
            Me: Helloooo?

I mean in a typical phone conversation the guy calling is supposed to have something to say or at least a reason for calling, neither ofwhich he had.  So I hung up right away.  Even though I didn’t have any confirmation that this was the same guy, I was 150% sure.  There was no way it could have been anybody else.  Well, he proceeded to call me 9 other times that day, all of which I rejected on the first ring.  So you would think that a normal person would take a hint, but he persistently kept calling. Some calls were back to back, others were spaced out.  I got the feeling this guy was not going to stop, and what scared me even more was that he had access to all of my information from the customs computers. Who knows what he could have done!

So the next day I told the head of the program (a Jordanian man) and he took care of the situation. He called the guy and made it very clear that if he even so much as thought to call me one more time, bad things would happen.  And I have yet to receive another phone call! 

And I’m sorry, but really?! Your way of picking up women is threatening to deny them entry to the country unless they give you their phone number? Umm tactless and desperate much? I would say so.  The sad thing is that this is the second time this has happened to me. The first time I ever ventured to the Arab world at age 16, I was at the customs desk in Rabat, Morocco, and the guy asked me out.  Thank goodness I didn’t have a phone number to give him! 

Kids WIll Be Kids

Since Friday is usually part of the weekend in the Muslim world (as in we have Friday and Saturday off, and the week starts on Sunday), many Arab families have a big family lunch on Friday afternoons.  My friend Matt lives with a Jordanian family, and they invited our friend Botta (we will refer to him by his last name since his first name is Matt too) and me over for lunch this Friday.  I gladly accepted the offer and secretly couldn’t wait to meet Matt’s host siblings: Ramy, 4 and Lara, 6. 

Well, let’s just say it was quite the afternoon.  We ate lunch while the kids sat in the other room throwing paper confetti and empty water bottles yelling “happy birthday” to us through the door.  Then after lunch when we were all in the family room watching Arabic music videos (a favorite Arab pastime), Ramy and Lara ran around with more energy than the 5 of us combined. 

They decided they wanted to go swimming and changed into their bathing suits and pretended to swim around the entire house.  Then all of a sudden, they started jumping between the coffee table and the couches and even on top of Botta, Mattand me.  It was endearing for about 5 minutes, but then it just got annoying and dangerous. 

I somehow managed to capture Ramy (an adorable little Arabchild), and we were playing in my lap until he decided he wanted to jump out ofmy arms and onto Botta who was holding a hot cup of coffee.  Well, the coffee went all over Botta and the couch, while Ramy sat there laughing.  Enta (you are) naughty, Ramy.  Naughty! 

Unfortunately, Botta had a date at 5 (he was planning onleaving straight from the house for his date) and now he literally looked like somebody smeared poop all over the front of his jeans.  He asked Matt for a change of clothes, but Matt is a good 6 inches taller than Botta, so it looked like he was in hisdad’s sweatpants.  Classy outfit for a date. 

Then, Lara had a bead kit to make necklaces, which she was really proud of and started to show it to me.  She held it up, and apparently it wasn’t closed all theway…because the beads went flying all over the room.  So Matt’s host parents, Ramy (who is now somehow naked), Lara, Matt, Botta, and I are on our hands and knees picking up all thebeads.  Once they were all back in the box, Ramy picked it up and again, the beads went flying! As if we didn’t learn our lesson the first time! So once again, we were back on the ground picking up all the beads.

Throughout the afternoon, Ramy and I formed quite a bond…aka we are now best friends, and he started crying and his mother picked him up.  But then he motioned that he wanted me to console him.  Yep, definitely best friend status right there! As we were leaving he gave me alittle kiss and a hug, and right then and there I decided I wanted to take him home with me.  But when he started acting up again, I would probably decide to bring him back! I can’t deal withall his energy. My goodness!

Saga of Taxi Troubles in Amman

1. Today my roommate Kirsten and I wanted to take a cab tomeet Matt at a café on Mecca Street. Of course taxi drivers have no idea which streets are which, let alonewhere a specific restaurant is located, so I said Mecca Mall (a knownlandmark).  He said ok, so we gotin.  Then after about a minutethings got weird.  This is how theconversation went (in Arabic!):
Driver:  Mecca Mall?
Me:  uhh yes
Driver: “ok well can’t you go to__________ (I forget where he said) because that’s where I need to go right now
Me: No, I want to go to Mecca Mall,thank you
Driver: Ok well then I need to getyou another cab because I can’t take you there
Me: ummm, ok

So he tries to flag down another taxi, but in doing so he isalso making a huge circle around our neighborhood.  Where he stopped to get us another cab was maybe a blockfrom the street we live on.  Therewas a cab stopped, so I figured we could just take that one, so I got out.  Well as I got out he asked for hismoney.  I looked at Kirsten and sheshrugged her shoulders. 

I knew I was going to have to handle this conversation.  So I start talking (in Arabic…I’mgetting good at this whole arguing in Arabic thing!) to the driver through thewindow, and pretty much say that there is absolutely no way I am going to payhim for driving us in a circle in order to find us another cab.  He tried to argue his case that heflagged us another cab.  Umm, okI’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be in this situation had you not agreed to take us inthe first place.  You have noargument in this scenario, buddy. There is no way you are getting you .75 JD.  I ended up yelling at him saying there was no way I wasgoing to pay him until he finally realized how serious I was, so he said hewould take me to Mecca Mall. 

When we got out, Kirsten and I made sure we paid the exactamount and not a penny more after that little adventure. 

2.  Thursday night (which is like our Friday night since the weekend is Friday/Saturday) I was going downtown to meet Matt to go to dinnerand a café, so he called me to say he was leaving at 6:30, so that’s when Ileft too.  I walked down to themain road to try to catch a cab, but it was such a mess.  All the cabs were already full or somedrivers just didn’t feel like stopping to pick you up. 

It didn’t make me feel any more comfortable that I was asingle girl (dressed super conservatively though) waiting by myself on the sideof a dark street, so all I wanted was to be in a cab to meet Matt.  Well, I waited for 30 minutes: nothing.  No cab would stop.   Then I started walking.  I knew the general direction of where Iwas going, but it was definitely not within a walking distance, so I hoped thatmaybe walking farther down the main street would help me catch a cab.  Well, another 30 minutes went by andstill no cab.  So I called Matt andsaid that if I didn’t catch a cab within 15 minutes, I was just going to go home. 

Within 10 minutes, a cab miraculously stopped for me!  And boy was the cab driver chatty.  By the end of the 20-minute cab ride, Iknew all about Juman’s life.  Ieven watched home videos of his two daughters, Salwa, 7, and Noor, 4. 

He dropped me off downtown, but before he did he asked if Ihad any friends in Jordan.  I saidI had some and he said “well, now you have another,” and I definitely did.  It reminded me that not all taxidrivers are trying to rip you off, creep on you, they can be genuinely nicepeople who compliment your Arabic and consider you a friend!

3.  My friendsKirsten, Jennifer, and I decided that Thursday after class we wanted to getmanis/pedis because 1) our feet are absolutely disgusting (Amman has reallytaken its toll) and 2) we just wanted the relaxing experience.  So we went to the IntercontinentalHotel Salon to get them done.  Wewalked in and they guy said he can’t do them now because he has to call his 2manicurists from their salon 30 minutes away.  Ok, so why do the Interncontentinal Salon workers also worksomewhere else? That’s kind of weird. But we said that we would wait the 30 minutes and went to a café towaste the time. 

When we came back, he said he called, and they said theycouldn’t come until after 5 pm when their salon closes.  There was no way we were going to wait3 hours for them to come after we had been told they would be here in 30minutes.  So we asked him for anothersalon to go to.  He gave us ageneral area where there are a lot of salons, so we were going to go when allof a sudden a random guy comes and asks if we wanted a salon.  We said yes, and he said “ok, I’ll takeyou.” 

We followed him outside, and he got into his car, andmotioned for us to do the same. We stood on the curb looking at each other.  Red flag: A random man told us he wouldtake us to his salon in his car.  Idon’t think so.  I was more thanhesitant and said I’d be more comfortable in a taxi.  He said he was the owner of the salon at theIntercontinental and the one he was going to take us to, but still I couldn’trationalize getting into his car, especially after everything that happened tome in Egypt with random men driving me places on public transportation.

So we said we would take a cab.  He didn’t put up a fight and said he would tell the driverexactly where to go, which he did. But not only did he do that, he drove in front of the taxi to show himthe way.  When we arrived at thesalon, there was an employee waiting for us on the side of the road to take usupstairs, and we said goodbye to the man. Only once inside the beautiful salon did we actually get confirmation thathe was the owner of both salons, and not some random creepy man!  I hope we didn’t insult him, but at thesame time I absolutely do not regret not getting into his car.  But now we know how to tell the taxiwhere to take us when we want to go back to the salon!

Saga of Beirut Taxi Troubles

1. The airport is teeming with taxi drivers who like to smellout Americans to rip them off with an exorbitant taxi fare.  Well our driver smelled out the wrongAmericans.  Kirsten’s friend toldus not to pay more than $15/20 USD (which they use along with the Lira), sothere was no way I was going to pay more than $15.  Warning: Don’t mess with Caitlin when she is bargaining. 

One taxi driver sniffed out the three American girls, mostlikely assuming we were an easy target. Oh how he was mistaken.  Hetried to take us for $25.  No, no,bud.  NO.  So I said $15, and not a penny more.  He laughed at my $15, so I laughed athis $25 when he said it again. Realizing I wouldn’t budge, he went down to $20.  Ok, so now he is showing hisweakness.  He went down within 5minutes, so why should I go up?! So I stood my ground.  Hesaid no to $15 again, and literally pulled a random guy off the street andclaimed he was airport police (umm, yeah, sure…airport police wearing jeans anda t-shirt talking on his cell phone, holding car keys?) and said the policemanwould enforce the $20 fare.  Well,I was not about to buy into that, so I started walking away to find another cabto start the bargaining all over. But of course once he saw that, $15 it was!

2. So the thing to do in Beirut at night is goclubbing.  I am not a clubbing kindof girl, but I bought into the whole “When I Lebanon, do as the Lebanese do”thing after Kirsten spent all of dinner convincing me to come out withher.  Well, we left for the club at11:30 pm, thinking it would take half an hour to get there.  So when I checked my phone uponarrival, I was shocked to see that it was already 1 am. 

It took us awhile to catch a cab since there were 6 of us,but we managed to cram 5 people in the back seat, and one sat in thefront.  The driver had no ideawhere we wanted to go, and neither did we.  Great…always a good sign.  So we drove in the general direction of the club (whichmight I add was an underground civil war bomb shelter turned club), but gotstuck in traffic.  And by stuck intraffic I mean like sitting in the same place for 30 minutes.  We stuck up a conversation with thecreepy guy in the car next to us, because we were so bored.  Then, once we started moving, the guybehind us apparently got so excited we were moving again and rammed into theback of our cab.  So that tookanother 20 minutes to figure out, even though car accidents here always endwith a smile and handshake. 

So we were finally back en route to this club.  Until we no longer knew the route.  So the driver pulls off the road onto aside road trying to find the place, and then all of a sudden we see thereflection of flashing red and blue lights.  Great. So not only did we get into a car accident, but nowwe are also getting a ticket. Apparently it was a 1 way street for the night, and we were going thewrong way, and also the fact that we had 5 people crammed into the backseat wasalso definitely illegal.  So that’stwo strikes against the driver, but apparently he talked himself out of theticket, so after another 20 minutes, we started up again.  Only to be pulled over, AGAIN.  But this time the police made a mistakeand returned the wrong drivers’ license to the taxi driver and had to exchangeit.  Thank goodness. 

We finally arrived at the club an hour and a half after ourjourney had started, and of course the driver wanted to charge us for thetraffic, the accident, and the run-in with the police.  Umm, I don’t think so, but this time Ileft the bargaining up to the Lebanese.

3.  Jennifer,Kirsten, and I were wandering around Beirut trying to figure out how to go toPigeon Rock (pretty much just a massive rock off the coast of theMediterranean), but we had no idea how much the taxi should cost.  So we flagged one down and told himwhere we wanted to go, and he said 4,000 Lira for all of us.  We agreed, and got in.  Probably 7 minutes later, we were atPigeon Rock, and he said he wanted 10,000 Lira for all of us.  What?! Absolutely not. 

So I started arguing with him.  There was no way I was going to let him rip us off when weonly got in after we agreed on 4,000 Lira.  He told us that normally it was 6,000 for a service and10,000 for a taxi, so he wanted 10,000 and denied that he originally told us4,000.  So I pitched a fit.  I was yelling at the guy in Arabic, andwasn’t going to let him take advantage of us. 

Then a random guy from the street came up to the windowasking if there was a problem.  Thedriver told him what was going on, and I clarified that he had told us 4,000 tobegin with, but the random guy on the street started saying “I guarantee he isright. You owe him 10,000 Lira.  Hedidn’t say 4,000.  I know. I knowhe didn’t.”  Oh boy.  That got me even more upset.  I started yelling at him, too! “What doyou mean you know? Were you there 5 minutes ago when we got in the cab and hesaid 4,000? I don’t think so. So you don’t know.  I know.  So goaway and let me talk to the driver.” (I am proud I got this all out in Arabicin the heat of the moment!)

After 5 minutes of bickering, we threw a 5,000 Lira bill inthe front seat and got out of the cab. I’m still a little upset he got an extra 1,000, but whatever.  At least he didn’t get his 10,000.

Caitlin Goes Camping...?!

Just like the title suggests, I went camping...in the desert. Shocking, I know. I'm surprised I survived to tell you all about it, but I can honestly say that I enjoyed it. Well, most parts of it...

 

 

Our program scheduled a trip to take us to Dana (a small little nature reserve), Wadi Rum (the desert), and Petra (an ancient city built into the rocks). So a group of 124 American students took off for a desert camping trip. How descete we must have looked!

The plan for the afternoon was drop our stuff at the tents in the nature reserve, then go on a "hike". So in case you guys didn't know or remember, Caitlin doesn't hike. Ever. My roommate Kirsten kept telling me "oh, it'll just be like a walk through the nature reserve. It's not a big deal; don't worry about it." Oh no, this was definitely a hike. There were two paths we could take: one was a scenic path and the other was to see the caves. My friends decided that the caves sounded really cool, so we were off to the caves. Only until we were 10 minutes into the trail did I find out that the cave trail was the intense hiking trail. Great. All I wanted was a leisurely walk and now I am literally on the side of a mountain climbing through caves. How did that happen?

 

 

After our little hiking adventure, we were told you could sleep in the tents or at a hotel. I think my hand went up before anybody else's for the hotel. After Matt's and my Umm Qais hotel mishap, I thought it could only go up from there. False. The hotel in Dana was pretty much a jail cell. It was a concrete room with three beds and a toilet. No mirror, tiny window, but they had a toilet! Success.

 

 

After hearing mosquitos buzzing and donkeys making their obnoxious sounds and dogs fighting, we fell asleep for maybe 3 hours. The next morning was rough, but we got up after our 7 am wake up call. By 9 we were on our way to Wadi Rum...the fun part.

The first thing we did was go on a jeep ride through the desert, making stops as needed to survey the scene and capture the desert images. It was absolutely amazing. Except that for some reason our driver was 12 years old, and we were always in the back of the pack. We would start out first after every stop, but soon enough we were watching all the other trucks speed by us! The last stop: tea in a bedouin tent! How classically stereotypical, but still. We are technically tourists who enjoy those things.

But what comes next is even more classically stereotypical: a camel ride through the desert. Which in theory sounds fun, but in reality is just painful. That's the only way to describe it. I was in a pack of 4 with Kirsten, Matt, and our Bedouin leader Abdul Rahman (more to come on him in a second). My camel's name was Esraa and let's just say she and I are not friends. Granted, she was pregnant and the last thing I would want is another 150 pounds on my back, but at the same time she needed to speed it up. Literally everytime there was a little tree or patch of weeds growing Esraa was stopped.

Anyway, that was the least of my concerns. My "saddle" (if you could even call it one) was kind of occupying my mind given how much pain it was causing me. For some reason everybody else was sitting comfortably on their padded saddles, while I was literally cringing and groaning the entire 2 hours because my saddle was a piece of wood covered by a light fleece jacket. Let's just say that it didn't work out very well. I literally could not sit or lay comfortably in any position for the next couple days, and I had bruises to prove it.

But all of a sudden in the middle of our camel ride, Abdul Rahman (who took a little too much of a liking to me) said "You sing or you jump." Umm I choose option number three: neither. Thanks. Then of course Matthew had to egg him on and say how wonderful of a singer I am and how much I love to sing. False. Nothing could be farther from the truth. But little Abdul Rahman was insistant, so I had to do it. For some bizarre reason, all I could think of was "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" so in the middle of the desert, there I was, cringing as I rode my uncomfortable camel while singing an American chidlren's song. Only in Jordan.

At the camp, we were assigned our tents, settled in (and by settled in I mean threw our bags on the mattress and unfolded the blanket. There's not really much settling in when it comes to tents in the desert. Then it was dinner time. Dinner was more of a feast of lamb and chicken cooked in the traditional bedouin way: buried and heated underground. It was ok, but buried meat is not really my idea of a good feast.

 

 

That night I actually slept better than I had in the hotel the previous night. It was a little cold, and my body wasn't going to let myself get comfortable after the camel ride, which should be really indicative as to how bad the hotel was. I really should stop complaining about that hotel...

Anyway, the next morning we were Petra bound. Petra is a city carved into the rocks of Southern Jordan and was the captial of the Nabateeans in th 6th Century BC. It was kept hidden until the early 19th century and was described as "a rose-red city half as old as time." The whole time I was walking through I could only imagine how it was in the 6th century, it must have been absolutely incredible. I mean it was absolutely incredible in the 21st Century!

I must say, though, it was a trek. A LONG trek. We had the option of walking up 900 steps carved into the mountain where to visit the Monsastery to see where the sacrifices took place, and let me tell you that was another hike and a half. What is it with all of this hiking?! I did feel accomplished afterwards though! Even though the Monastery was anti-climatic after seeing the Treasury and walking up 900 steps!

 

 

So after seeing a 6th Century rock city, riding a camel for 2 hours, being propsoed to by a Bedouin, 4 wheeling through the desert, eating a buried heat-cooked lamb, and sleeping in tents in the desert, I arrived back in Amman ready for a massage and ready to collapse in bed! Unfortunately only the collapsing in bed happened, but at that point, it was good enough for me!

Only in Jordan

Only in Jordan...

1. would a taxi driver back up in the middle of a busy street because he missed the left turn.

2. would my handshake be rejected by a man.

3. would the forecast be a dust storm with a possible chance of mud rain.

4. would I have to purchase toilet paper for my hotel room.

5. would my confused professor tell a student "you are really doing a mess here".

6. would a food stand by the university only sell hot creamed corn.

7. would 80 degrees be considered "cool" and definitely jean weather.

8. would a textbook be considered a packet of all the required articles/chapters from different books copied (completely legally) and bound together in a "textbook".

9. would MacDonalds be considered feasting in style.

10. would a taxi driver smoke at least 2 cigarettes on the 15 minute drive home.

11. would a restaurant be named "Heart Attack" with "food worth dying for" as its slogan.

12. would our landlords take us up to their apartment for "intensive care" if we are sick.

13. would a 1 JD bill be the only usable form of currency even though every bank scowls when you ask for change.

14. would you walk into a 7 x 7 clothing shop and have the shop owner pull out hanus clothes that he'd think you'd like (even though nobody should ever like those clothes).

15. would fresh mango juice be considered breakfast (it only costs $1.40!).

16. would a taxi driver hand me tissues to wipe my sweat.

17. would bus drivers try to recruit you to go on their bus even if its destination is the complete opposite direction of yours.

18. would cramming 5 people in the backseat of a taxi be allowed.

19. would a box of cornflakes cost $8.

20. would we be offered hand sanitizer only AFTER the meal.

21. would walking to class mean "stare at the American".

Hadrian's Gate at Jerash

Old and New-- Jerash

Jerash

Jerash

Jerash

Jerash

SYRIA...in the background!!!!

Syria/Jordan Valley -- Umm Qais

View from Umm Qais

Umm Qais

Weekend up North

My roommate Kirsten went to Germany this weekend to visit her sister, so I impulsively decided I wanted to go somewhere, too.  I originally looked at tickets to either Cairo or Beirut, but I started looking last Thursday.  Poor planning on my part, I know.  So when Matt suggested we go somewhere within Jordan, I changed my plans.  We decided on going to Umm Qais and Jerash which are located north of Amman.  Umm Qais is an ancient Roman city, located in the very tip of Jordan’s most northern border.  From the city, you can see the Sea of Galilee, Palestine, Israel, Syria, the Golan Heights, the Jordan Valley, and Lebanon.   Jerash is located just 40 km north of Amman and I would describe it as the Jordanian equivalent of Rome.  The tiny (ok, Rome isn’t tiny) city of Jerash is built around the ancient Roman ruins.  Right beside a marble column built in 86 BC or earlier stands a traffic light.

Matt and I left from the university right after class on Thursday afternoon.  We took a bus from campus to the North Bus Station in Amman, and from there we took another bus to Irbid.  The ride was only about 1 and ½ hours total, and only cost $3.00 for the trip. The bus to Irbid took us to the new bus station, but the minibus to Umm Qais left from the North Bus Station, so we took another bus to that station, only to get on another one to Umm Qais.  So after 4 bus transits, we made it to Umm Qais. 

Since there aren’t technically any bus stops (as a knock on the window constitutes a bus stop), Matt and I had no idea where we should get off. All of a sudden, I saw a huge sign in the middle of the road that said “Umm Qais Hotel,” so I knocked on the window.  We got off, but the hotel sign was literally in the middle of the road.  After a couple minutes of standing on the street corner trying to find the hotel, we asked somebody who pointed us up an alley where hotel was written on the wall.  Classy. 

We walked in the door, expecting a reception desk, but the so –called “reception desk” was simply a guy sitting in front of a tv.  He had to put on his shoes, and then walked over to us to show us to our room.  We walked up three floors to get to room 119 (how that makes sense, I’m not quite sure), which was ours for the night.  Describing the room as modest would be generous, but I guess it would do for the night.  After seeing our room, it wasn’t hard to understand why the guidebook said most people made a day trip out of Umm Qais, instead of staying the night. Oh well.  We learned the hard way. 

The one bed in the room was probably as comfortable as a park bench, and the pillow was pretty much as thin as the sheets.  The screen had a hole in it, which was “patched” by putting a paper towel in it. Apparently, it was still permeable as Matt and I woke up itching. Hopefully they were just mosquitoes, and not bed bugs. Either way, I’d rather not know where the itching came from. The bathroom had no toilet paper and the shower had no door or curtain, so it flooded the bathroom when used.  There was one towel.  (I took a shower first...sorry Matt.)

By the time we had settled in, and by settled in I mean stopped complaining and come to terms with the fact that we had to stay there for the night, we decided to walk down to the ruins and eat dinner at the Umm Qais Resthouse that is famous for its views.  On our way to the ruins, we stopped at a little grocery store to buy toilet paper for our hotel room (a little illogical, huh?).  We asked the cashier how to get to the Resthouse, and all of a sudden a guy comes out of nowhere and offers to show us the way. 

The resthouse was literally 5 minutes down the road, but our new friend Khalid decided to be our guide for the evening.  He walked with us all the way, and he tried to get us a table at the Resthouse Restaurant, but it was booked for the night.  So I guess plan B was for Khalid to give us a tour of the ruins.  He was a fantastic tour guide, and he only spoke in Arabic, so I was very proud of myself that I understood the majority of what he said. 

The view was absolutely gorgeous.  We could literally see all the way to Syria, Palestine, and Israel.  Khalid explained what everything was and pointed out all the different countries.  And after about an hour of walking around the ruins and looking at the view, he asked what we wanted for dinner.  We said we didn’t have any plans since the Resthouse was full, so he took us to a local restaurant for hummos and falafel.  It was some of the best falafel I have had in Jordan! And of course the meal was washed down with a cup of hot Jordanian tea.  After dinner, Khalid invited us to go to a party in Irbid with him, but Matt and I decided to go back to the hotel room instead.  So Khalid said he would meet us in front of our hotel at 10 am the next morning (inshallah—God willing), so he could be our guide for the day and then drive us to Irbid so we could take a bus to Jerash.

Matt and I went back to the hotel to get some sleep, since it had been an exhausting day.  But the hotel offered us little comfort.  The bed was impossible to sleep on, it was very hot, and the ceiling fan sounded like it was about to fall off the ceiling and onto the bed in the middle of the night. After about 2 hours of trying to sleep, I somehow managed to drift off, only to wake up every couple hours.

Eventually, Matt and I both woke up at 6 am…so much for our plan to sleep in. But at that point, I was surprised I had even ‘slept in’ until 6! I got up and showered and was ready to go, but Matt took his sweet little time getting ready, and somehow managed to get himself together by 10:15.  We walked downstairs, and “checked out,” which pretty much meant that we told the guy we were leaving and paid him our 20 JD rate.  We left our stuff in the front room of the hotel while we spent a couple hours at the ruins. 

I guess God didn’t will Khalid to meet us at 10 am that morning, so we just went to the ruins ourselves.  We remembered enough of his tour last night to avoid needing a guide.  We walked around the old Roman city and took in the views, and eventually made our way to the Resthouse for lunch.  The food was incredible and that coupled with the views is an experience words cannot describe.

I know this is going to sound really lame, but sitting there looking at Syria almost made me cry.  It has been my dream to visit Syria, and coming so close but not being able to enter was heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time.  I was a stone’s throw away from the country of “my people” and I have come to terms with the fact that it’s the closest I’ll come to Syria…for now.

After lunch, we went back to the hotel to pick up our backpacks and walked to the main street to catch a bus back to Irbid.  The entire city had shut down, shops and restaurants closed, because it was Friday prayer.  The mosque let out as we were waiting on the corner, and all the men filed out, opening their shops, or stopping to buy bread before returning home.  I had not seen another woman on the street on Thursday night or Friday, which was a very shocking experience for me. I definitely felt like a spectacle walking down the street, not only because I was a foreigner, but also a woman! Not to mention that I was wearing a bright pink shirt. Probably not the best idea. Oops.
Anyway, we stood on the corner of the main street for about 10 minutes and didn’t see a single bus come.  Some guy shouted “Irbid?” out the window of his empty van, but Matt and I looked at each other and decided to go with our gut instinct on this one and ignore him.  Eventually a black bus going to Irbid drove by, and we flagged it down and were Irbid bound…until a guy on the other side of the road flagged down the bus and asked the driver to go back to the city center. So we went back to Umm Qais and started all over again. This time we made it back to Irbid and got on another bus to the other bus station. 

All of a sudden out of nowhere, it started pouring rain. Like torrential downpour.  I soon came to figure out that a desert rainstorm is very similar to a Tampa thunderstorm because they both last for maybe 10 minutes, and then it’s back to being sunny and a million degrees again.  So by the time we were at the south bus station in Irbid, the storm had already cleared up. 

We walked around trying to find a bus to Jerash, but the station was rather empty.  It was a Friday afternoon, afterall, so buses only run sporadically.  We found out that we had to take a service since the last bus to Jerash had already left for the day, so some guy (not an actual service) said he would drive us for 5 JD.  I was skeptical to get in his car, but Matt seemed ok with it, so I gave in and went.  The trip was only about half an hour and when we got to Jerash, the driver asked where we we staying.  I told him the Olive Branch Resort, which is about 7 km out of town, and he pitched a fit.  He said in order to take us there it would be another 5 JD, making the total 10 JD. I argued back with him because that amount was absolutely ridiculous.  He was doubling the price for another 7 km! I don’t think so.  I tried arguing with him, but I couldn’t do it coherently in Arabic, and his English was worse than my Arabic, so eventually I gave in.  We paid the 10 JD.  They know that us Americans are easy targets.  But at least we got to the hotel, and taxis in Jerash are hard to come by, so it was worth it in the long run.

This hotel was considerably nicer than the one in Umm Qais, but it was definitely a Jordanian version of a resort.  Matt and I walked into the room and plopped down onto the bed and slept for about 3 hours before venturing out to the city for dinner.  The front desk called a cab for us, and he took us right to the restaurant and waited while we ate.  What service! When we were back at the hotel, he only charged us for what the route would have cost, not for his wait, so we gave him a little tip.  He deserved it, the other guy, not so much.

Matt and I decided to get up early the next morning to go to the ruins, so we could 1) miss the heat and 2) get back to Amman with enough time to get ready for the week.  We woke up at 6:50 and fell back asleep until 8 (which was when we were planning on leaving). We eventually made it to the city by about 9:15 walked around the ruins until 11.  At 11:15 we wanted to go see a Chariot Race reenactment, so we bought our tickets and waited for the show to start.  We agreed to meet our driver at 11:45 to go back to Amman, but we figured staying for half an hour was worth it.  By 11:35 the show had yet to start.  We decided to go back to the ticket man and ask for a refund, since it had already been 20 minutes and nothing had happened.  He said the show was about to start and it was only 5 minutes late anyway.  We looked at the sign, and they had sneakily changed the show time to 11:30.  We finally talked him into giving us a full refund for our tickets and met our driver to go back to Amman. 

We got back to Amman at about 1:00 or so, and he took us right to our separate houses, which was very convenient.  We debated whether we should take a bus or a cab because the prices were staggeringly different, but paying the extra 10 JD for the cab was definitely worth it.  

Overall, it was a long and tiring weekend, but I had an absolutely amazing time this weekend.  Jerash had incredibly beautiful ruins, and Umm Qais was worth the longer trip and terrible hotel room for its spectacular views, especially of the “homeland” Syria.  Seeing that meant more to me than anything we saw this weekend. It will be hard to beat that because of sentimental reasons, but next weekend we are going to Petra, so we will see how that compares!

View of Amman from the Citadel-- This is the second largest flag in Jordan!

I am standing in Wasfi Attal Circle! He used to be the Prime Minister of Jordan

At the amphitheater...yes, this is the highest I climbed

The door of a church, turned boarding house during the Roman Era

City view--the amphitheater is on the left

At the butcher's...that is a fully skinned lamb's head.

Victory Is Ours!

I hate spiders. Or bugs in general, rather. So when I saw a HUGE spider in my room right before I went to bed, I freaked out. I called my roommate Kirsten down to my room so we could tag team the spider-dispelling effort, but she’s not much of a spider fan either.  She put on a pair of boots so the spider couldn’t crawl up her leg when she tried to step on him, but I risked it in my flip flops.  We cornered the spider between my bedside table and the wall, but when Kirsten tried to step on the spider, it ran under the table.  Spider 1, Us 0.

Then we decided to move the bedside table. I took out the two drawers and moved the lamp to another table, and the plan was for me to swiftly move the table so Kirsten could stomp on him.  The spider ran under my bed as I moved the table. Spider 2, Us 0.

New strategy.  We couldn’t move my bed because that would be too much work, so I got my golf ball and threw it at him, hoping he would run out from under my bed. Fail.  He ran between my bed and the wall.  So Kirsten brought back a spray bottle of Kaboom, hoping to drown the spider.  He was unaffected and stayed put.  Spider 3, Us 0.

But we did realize that the spider is afraid of the Kaboom spray, so we used it to get the spider where we wanted him. We got him to move behind my desk into an open corner.  I got a book and was going to throw it on him, but the spider was literally in the corner up against the wall, so there was no way the book plan was going to work. So Kirsten said she would stomp on him again. He somehow managed to survive again. Spider 4, Us 0.

At this point we were so determined that there was no way this spider was going to live. Kirsten spayed him into another corner (literally across the room) and we knew that was it. He was going down.  Kirsten decided stomping would be more effective than the book, so she was going to go for it. And she finally succeeded!  Spider 4, Us 1.  And our 1 is the effort that matters.

So, after 40 minutes, a spray bottle of Kaboom, a pair of boots, a flashlight, a golf ball, a book, strategic planning, moving all my furniture, and Kirsten the giant spider in my room is now dead.

Take that you little bugger. We were victorious.

Catholic Mass

I have a confession:  I haven’t gone to church since I was in Cuba in late May.  Not good, I know. So when Matt told me about a Catholic Mass at a local church, I said I’d join him. And boy was it an interesting experience. 

Mass started at 6, but in true Arab style, people were filtering in until 6:30.  The church wasn’t completely full until after the Homily, which lasted much longer than it should have.  Children were literally running around the church, and if somebody left his/her seat, it was fair game. One little boy left his mom for about 5 minutes, but when he came back, some other guy was sitting in his seat. So he moved to the row behind his mother.  So bizarre.

But what was even more shocking was communion.  It was a mad rush to the altar.  Matt and I looked at each other, and joined the crowd.  I noticed that some of the smarter ones stayed seated until the rush died down. Mumkin (maybe) we should have followed suit.

We were definitely the only foreigners at the Mass, probably because the entire mass was in Arabic. That said, we shouldn’t have been there only because the only thing I understood was “The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit”.  It was all downhill after the opening prayer.  

In the middle of the Mass, the mosque down the street started the Call to Prayer, which was a really neat experience.  There does seem to be a relatively large Christian population in Amman, and it is refreshing to know that a mosque and a church can be located on the same street without any problems. 

عمان مش كالقاهرة : Amman is no Cairo

Greetings from Jordan! After a hassle and a half trying to get to Amman, I finally made it! We have been “orientating” for the past week, and I feel like I have already pretty much settled in and am ready for the semester to start.

My first impression of the city is that it is very underwhelming. Everything looks the same (King Hussein established a law that said all building must be built using limestone), so the city is nicknamed the “white city.” English is the second language, so all the signs are written in Arabic and English. I drove by a building that said City Center in English and was written سنتر سيتي which is literally the words “City Center” written in Arabic script. If I get in a taxi and sayلو سمحت   المدينة وسط  إلى اروح بدي  or “I would like go downtown” in perfect Jordanian dialect, the cab drivers almost always answer in English. It is very disappointing because I am very excited to learn the Jordanian dialect and to practice it with the locals. Although, today I got into a cab and told him where I wanted to go in dialect, and he was very impressed. We then had a full conversation in Arabic because the wise taxi driver said “why you learn Arabic? You learn to use to speak. So you must speak.” I wish that was the mentality of more Jordanians!

As lame as it may sound, my taxi driver gave me hope that my time spent in Jordan will not be a waste.  I came to Jordan thinking it was going to be boring, and I know I didn’t give the city a fair chance. I came comparing it to Cairo, for which there is absolutely no comparison.  I have begun to realize that I have to accept Amman for what it is and appreciate everything it has to offer.

Ps. I will elaborate more on my living situation in the next post, because it definitely deserves its own.